


Sleepless Nights

by butterflybeautyrush



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering (ish), Anal Play, Co-Dependency, Cuddling, Curious Sam, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester First Time, First Time, Frottage, Implied Top Sam/Bottom Dean, Insecure Dean, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Sharing a Bed, Struggling Dean, Supportive Sam, Vulnerable Dean, alternating pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-15 04:43:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16055780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflybeautyrush/pseuds/butterflybeautyrush
Summary: Now that the Winchesters are living in the bunker, they have their own rooms and while this sounds ideal, Dean finds that having his own room is causing a lot of sleepless nights.  Ignoring the issue only makes it worse, so finally he bites the bullet and secretly sleeps on Sam’s floor.Turns out it’s not so secret and the brothers must navigate through new sleeping arrangements and unspoken feelings.





	Sleepless Nights

**Author's Note:**

> I read a fic with a similar idea recently, and as with a lot of first-time fics, I got frustrated with how quickly everything happened. There’s some minor scene-setting, I’m intrigued, and then bam, suddenly the boys are kissing, and then bam, they’re having sex and as a reader I’m left wondering how in the hell these brothers went from comforting each other or whatever else to suddenly making out and being totally okay with it. As a reader I want the build up, I want to be seduced by the scene and the journey as much as the characters are. I want to feel the emotions build. I want to be shown that these feelings were somehow there before and I want to see how they work through their hang-ups about those feelings to get to the smutty bits.
> 
> This fic was my attempt to work through these thoughts. I don't know if it did everything I set out to do, but I'm mostly pleased with how it turned out. Hope you enjoy!

Dean never realized how much he depended on another person breathing in the room with him at night. The first few weeks at the bunker were awesome – a kitchen to cook in, a place where he could finally stop living out of a duffel, a library of lore for Same to pore over – but the nights were strange. Suddenly Dean was closing the door behind him at night and turning to face only one bed. And suddenly Dean was climbing into bed and controlling when the light went off, could watch porn or jerk off to his hearts content, could sleep naked if he damn well pleased.

 

All those things were great in a way, but it also suddenly became very apparent how heavily Dean relied on the sound of another person in the room, their breath in the air, the shuffle of movement under the sheets, the creak of a mattress. The air in his room, _just his,_ was so still, so soundless that Dean laid wide-awake every night with his ears twitching, reaching for any sound.

 

After endless hours of lying silently, unmoving in the dark, Dean’s eyelids would grow too heavy to keep open anymore and the exhaustion would kick in and drag him under. But every night was the same.

 

Sam seemed to be doing okay. He was cheery and focused during the day – intent on exploring every inch of the bunker and finding books in the archives on subjects and monsters they’d never even heard of. Dean could hear the satisfaction in how Sam crunched on the carrots he’d bought to keep in their fridge, could see it in the relaxed set of Sam’s shoulders.

 

And when the hour had gotten late Sam would wish Dean a good night and close himself into his room for a restful sleep. Dean could tell, because some nights when the pressing silence became too much, he would sneak out of his room to stand outside Sam’s and listen at the door. It was just to make sure Sammy was okay, adjusting as he should be. Or so Dean told himself. Every time, Sam’s room was quiet and if he stood there long enough, he’d hear one of Sam’s soft snores.

 

It was a bit discouraging to find that for all the excitement at finally having a slice of normal, his own room, and damn wasn’t that something, Dean was more restless than ever.

 

***

 

About three weeks into their stay at the bunker, they caught a case that took them far outside Lebanon. They packed their bags, gassed up Baby, and took off on the open road. By that night the brothers had stopped at a motel and despite the mustiness and the stains, Dean slept better than he had in weeks. Simply having Sam breathing one bed over made all the difference. Dean was out in minutes.

 

It was slightly disappointing then to return to the bunker a few days later and realize he’d likely be staring at the ceiling for hours again waiting for sleep to claim him. Annoyed by his own weakness, Dean tossed his duffel at the floor in his room and strode back out to search the bunker. There had to be something to help him.

 

Sweaty from ransacking the many rooms in the bunker, Dean triumphantly returned to his room with an old, slightly rusted metal fan. The white noise had to be an improvement over the silence.

 

And it was. Though he didn’t fall asleep straight away, it didn’t take long for Dean’s eyes to drop closed with the noise in the room. It definitely helped. By morning, Dean actually felt rested and he looked to the ceiling with a feeling of gratefulness.

 

The following few days were much better than those first few weeks and even Sam noticed Dean’s improved mood. Dean was climbing into bed every night with far more eagerness than dread and it was a relief – until it wasn’t.

 

Only a few nights later, fan whirring in the corner, Dean lay staring at the ceiling once more, lids heavy but refusing to close. It was unbelievable, absolutely ridiculous that Dean was back here again. He sighed with deep frustration, which he repeated the following few nights when again he lay sleepless in his room.

 

Obviously the fan wasn’t enough, so Dean spends the next few evenings drinking himself into a stupor in order to pass out. Sam looks at him with such a disapproving expression that Dean ducks his head in shame the first night and hides in his room the rest. It still takes him an endlessly long time to fall asleep, though maybe not quite as bad, and the resulting hangover in the mornings is definitely not worth the very minor improvement.

 

Dean has to wonder just how dependent he’s become on other people. He tries to think back over the years, of nights he’d spent alone, and strangely enough, very few come to mind. There were a number of nights after Sam left, once Dad had started hunting on his own, that Dean had spent by himself. It hadn’t been long though until he’d sought nightly companionship. He’d found Cassie for a short time and then bounced beds as often as he changed states looking for hunts.

 

After Sam returned to hunting with him, the first nights Dean had spent truly alone had been the nights following Sam’s first death, and how fucked up was that - _first_. Those nights had been plagued by so much pain and anguish though, that being alone to sleep had been the least of his worries. In fact, Dean didn’t so much sleep in those few days as pass out when his body just couldn’t take anymore.

 

Later, after Sam had thrown himself into the pit, Dean hadn’t gone a day before he was with Lisa and Ben. Even that first night, he’d had someone lying beside him, slow deep breaths filling the air and soothing him to sleep, nightmare filled though it was.

 

There were so few nights Dean can think of that he’d spent truly alone, that it’s actually concerning. All these years and all these nights, and Dean is just now discovering that he doesn’t know how to be on his own – and not the kind of alone that comes with someone’s death or leaving him behind, just simply being by himself to sleep.

 

Dean doesn’t know what to do with that realization. What can he do? For a brief moment he considers going out, but it’s not like he can bring someone home to the bunker. At the same time as he is ruling that out, he is also realizing that restlessness may not be all he’s feeling. Somehow, strangely, Dean knows that having just anybody next to him won’t help him.

 

All these years he’d gotten by with one-night stands and short flings, but in this moment when he feels so utterly alone and frustrated, Dean realizes that it is only having Sam in the room next to him that will help him. He isn’t so repressed to not know the multi-faceted reason behind that, but he isn’t willing to think on it anymore. He’d never fully thought the words, let alone said them aloud and he isn’t about to open that can of worms now.

 

Dean grips his sheets in anger, at the situation, himself. He is 34 fucking years old and essentially scared of the dark. He’s the equivalent of a toddler without his security blanket. Tears bite at the backs of his eyes and the simple fact that he is on the verge of crying makes him more frustrated and angry, which only makes the burning sensation worse.

 

He blinks to force the tears back and flings his covers to the side, standing and grabbing his pillow as he storms out of his room. When he gets to Sam’s door, despite the stormy feeling in his chest, Dean turns the knob silently and creeps inside.

 

For a long moment, Dean lets the dim hallway light illuminate Sam’s room and he observes from the doorway how Sam is sprawled on the bed on his side, arms tucked around a pillow, soft breaths puffing into the air, how peaceful he is, how _independent_.

 

Glad for his brother, but bitter all the same, Dean shuts the door and drops his pillow onto the floor, shuffling his hands around to find the blanket draped over the end of Sam’s bed. Wrapping himself in the blanket that smells vaguely of Sam, and with his brother’s even breaths and periodic snores filling his ears, Dean curls up on the floor and closes his eyes. It is maybe a minute before he goes under.

 

***

 

The following morning, Dean blinks awake to a stiff back and cold feet. With the blanket secured around his upper body, Dean’s feet had been left to suffer the cooler air of the bunker. For a full night’s rest however, Dean is convinced it was worth it.

 

Rubbing a hand over his mouth and wiping away any traces of drool, Dean sits up and stifles a loud yawn, glancing up at the bed. Shit.

 

Sam was already up and out of the room. Which means he’d seen Dean on his floor and probably had twenty questions ready to fire at him as soon as Dean stumbled out of the room.

 

Dean groans and drops his face into his hands. Just what he needed.

 

***

 

It had been quite the surprise to wake up and find Dean on his floor that morning. Sitting at the table with his coffee, Sam still doesn’t know what to make of it. Had he sleepwalked? Gotten confused during the night? Suddenly grown concerned about Sam’s safety and felt the pressing need to watch over him?

 

Sam has no idea, and it is too early to be asking these questions. Sam sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. It’s another hour before Sam can hear Dean shuffling down the hallway and clinking in the kitchen.

 

Knowing his brother would likely try to avoid him, Sam stands and ambles into the kitchen, leaning on the counter. He watches Dean’s shoulders tense as soon as he is aware of Sam’s presence. Sam sighs into his coffee.

 

“Morning,” Sam greets. Dean grunts, but gives no further response. Only when Dean turns around with his mug does Sam finally continue. “Everything okay? Something happen last night?”

 

A blank stare meets him and Dean’s mouth stays firmly shut. Sam purses his lips. “It’s just that you usually don’t choose to sleep on the floor.” He thought maybe posing his concern with a little humor would help. Instead, Dean’s brow furrows and he glares into his coffee.

 

So no humor then. Dean was being a typical hard ass about things. “Dean, what’s going o–” Sam watches, eyebrows lifting as his brother makes a sound of frustration and storms out of the room. Closing his eyes, Sam takes a deep breath and sips at his coffee. Damn.

 

For the rest of the day, Sam keeps his eyes open, observing his brother from a distance, interacting with him very little. Dean is obviously avoiding him and with a whole bunker open to them, it isn’t that hard to spend the entire day apart.

 

From what Sam can see, Dean is perfectly fine. He doesn’t try to watch Sam, doesn’t seem concerned about him at all, which seems to rule out his last theory from that morning. But then his brother had never sleepwalked or done anything unexplainable during the night either. So Sam is back at square one.

 

By that evening Dean is actually speaking to him again and they eat together. The conversation is normal, if not a little tense with Sam’s unspoken questions and Dean’s avoidance, but it feels good and some of Sam’s concern dissolves.

 

They say goodnight once it’s late and Sam listens from his room as Dean goes into his own and clicks the door shut behind him. He sleeps through the night and when he doesn’t see Dean curled into a ball on his floor, Sam is relieved. Whatever it was seems to have been a one-time thing.

 

Or not. As he climbs out of bed, Sam sees something on the floor that hadn’t been there the night before. Stooping to pick it up, Sam examines it, pressing the button on top and hearing a soft sound. Dean had apparently brought a little alarm clock into the room with him, quiet enough to wake him but not Sam. What is going on with Dean?

 

Breathing a sigh through his nose, Sam dresses and goes to get coffee, unsurprised to find Dean’s room shut and not a sound elsewhere in the bunker. Figuring he’ll let Dean have his little triumph, Sam doesn’t ask any questions that day, acts like Dean hadn’t been in his room at all, just like it seems Dean wants.

 

Dean is far less tense when he comes out of his own room that morning. Sam instantly recognizes the relaxed set to his shoulders and the ease with which he acknowledges Sam. Sot that’s how it’s going to be. No surprise, but frustrating all the same.

 

The day consists of some reading for Sam, cataloguing of some of the books he’d uncovered in the Men of Letters bunker. Dean spends the day in his room or in the garage, coming out to have lunch and dinner with Sam before disappearing again each time.

 

When it grows late enough, Sam finds Dean and tells him he is going to bed. The skin around Dean’s mouth tightens, jaw tensing, but his brother says goodnight and Sam leaves with no more clarity than yesterday.

 

He has a hard time falling asleep what with all the questions whirling around his brain, but eventually he does drift off and doesn’t wake until morning. This time it seems Dean’s alarm plan hadn’t worked. It was no earlier than yesterday that Sam sits up in bed, but Dean is still on the floor, this time with a bigger blanket wrapped around him, his adorably messy hair just peeking out of the top of his cocoon.

 

Sam considers his brother, what could possibly be causing him to sleep there each night, and is stumped. The floor couldn’t possibly be better than the memory foam mattress in Dean’s room, especially not after Dean had made such a big deal about having it. And obviously that wasn’t the draw, so what was? What did Dean get out of sleeping on his floor?

 

Oh. Could it really be that simple? That Dean wanted to be close to him? But then they had whole days they could spend with each other, so why at night? Sam watches Dean sleep and sighs, mouth lifting at one corner.

 

It actually isn’t so complicated now that Sam thinks about it. The first few nights at the bunker had been weird for him too not having Dean right there in the bed next to him. And for Dean, who hadn’t had to survive for long periods without him, the nights by himself had to be driving him slightly crazy.

 

Sam had some experience dealing with the loneliness, the silence, but Dean – his amazing but emotionally stunted brother – Dean wouldn’t. These nights alone had to be foreign and disorienting, and with Sam just down the hall, how could Sam blame him for trying to be close. If Sam had been able to have Dean sleep nearby during all those months alone after the trickster had taken Dean from him that horrible Wednesday or after he’d disappeared to Purgatory, Sam would have jumped on the chance.

 

Sad for his brother, Sam gets up and goes about his day. Rather than ask more questions, Sam mulls over ways of helping Dean, of approaching the subject with him now that Sam knows. Dean, despite the lack of questions, is tense, nervous the entire day. Now that he has to know Sam had caught him on the floor at least twice, his nerves are obviously frayed and on edge.

 

Sam doesn’t want his brother to suffer. The last thing he wants is for Dean to be ashamed of how he’s feeling or to deny himself what he needs. But knowing his brother, Sam is sure that Dean would soon try to stop what he’s doing, would deny himself rather than risk further exposure and embarrassment.

 

Sitting in the den that night in front of the tv Dean had insisted they install in their first weeks at the bunker, Sam is still turning over ideas of how to approach the topic with his brother. It’s nearing the time to turn in and Sam doesn’t want to let this go on any longer.

 

Despite the feelings Sam knows linger under the surface, the ones that hint at loving Dean more than he should, Sam refuses to put his needs or minor discomfort ahead of Dean. He knows what needs to be said.

 

When Sam can’t put it off anymore, the hour slipping past his usual time to turn in, Sam makes his way to Dean’s room. His brother is lounging on his bed, headphones around his neck, music filtering into the room. Dean’s eyes are closed, but his fingers are tapping in rhythm with the song on the mattress, obviously awake.

 

Sam knocks on the doorframe. Startled, Dean sits up and hits pause on the music, watching Sam warily. “Night,” Sam tells him. “I’m headed to bed.”

 

Dean nods and leans back on his pillows. “Kay. Night.” He shoots Sam a grin, but it looks more pained than anything.

 

Sam turns as if to leave and looks back. Dean is still watching him, waiting for him to go. Sam looks Dean in the eye and offers a half smile. “If you’re going to end up in my room anyway, you might as well sleep in the bed.”

 

Immediately Dean flushes a bright red and sits up straight on the bed, eyes wide in his face, mouth opening and shutting a few times before he finally stammers a response. “I – what are you talking – I’m not – you.”

 

Sam simply looks at him pointedly. He sighs and starts to walk away, stopping again just before he clears the doorframe, again angling his face at Dean. “There’ll be room…if you want it.”

 

Without another word Sam leaves the room and goes to his own, slumping onto the bed once he gets there. Eventually he preps for bed and climbs in, sure to leave half the mattress open for Dean should he choose to take Sam up on his offer.

 

***

 

Staring after Sam in shocked embarrassment, Dean sits frozen on his bed for long minutes. What could he possibly say to Sam? As if being found on the floor wasn’t humiliating enough. But now Sam is gone, his invitation taunting Dean, and angry, Dean dresses for bed. Resolutely, Dean climbs under his covers and turns out the light, intent on sleeping in his own bed, like the fucking adult man that he is.

 

Endless minutes later, Dean tosses on the bed, eyes just as open as they had been when he laid down, his heart racing in the silence, feeling twitchy and uncomfortable. He glances at the clock. Two hours. He’d been laying here for two hours and his damn fool self was anxious as a toddler without his mom.

 

Dean squeezes his eyes shut, throat burning as he tries to suppress frustrated tears. Knowing nothing else will help, Dean flips off the covers and slides out of bed. Still fighting back tears, Dean creeps down the hallway and into his brother’s room. With the dim hallway light casting its glow around the room, Dean takes a moment to stare at Sam.

 

His younger brother is incredibly selfless. As much as it pains Dean to admit he needs Sam the way he does, it’s undeniable. Sam’s hair fans behind him on the pillow and this time there is no pillow in his arms, taking up space on the bed. Dean takes in the open space next to Sam, the stretch of mattress left available just for him.

 

Warmth spreads through Dean in that moment, a peace and comfort he’d never anticipated. Dean’s cheeks heat as he considers how much he loves his brother, adores him. It shouldn’t be possible to feel this strongly about a family member and yet, here Dean is, heart glowing like the damn Grinch on Christmas.

 

Closing the door behind him with a quiet snick, Dean approaches the bed and lifts the comforter on the open side. When Sam doesn’t so much as stir, Dean climbs in and settles. His back is immediately thankful for the soft resting place and after the last few nights, it’s a relief to know he won’t wake with a deep ache in his muscles.

 

He turns his face to see Sam, closing his eyes when he hears one of Sam’s low snores. Dean clenches his jaw briefly. That sound is everything. In seconds, Dean is out.

 

***

 

When Dean stirs awake he is more comfortable and rested than he has been in a long time. It takes him a moment to realize he isn’t exactly in the same position he’d gone to sleep in and that he can smell Sam’s scent more than he’d expect. Slitting his eyes open, Dean is surprised to find himself rolled into Sam’s chest, his head tucked under his brother’s chin, nose an inch from Sam’s skin, with Sam’s arm draped over his waist.

 

It’s a strange parody of how they’d often slept as children, little Sammy tucked against Dean in motel beds, tiny hands clutching at Dean’s shirt, snuffling breaths into Dean’s skin. Now it’s Dean in that position and he can understand why Sam had found it so comforting.

 

Taking one last inhale of Sam’s scent so close, Dean starts a slow roll away, easing himself out of Sam’s hold. It must jostle him some, because in the next moment Sam is blinking sleepily at Dean, his lips turning up in a soft smile, apparently glad to see him there. “Hey,” Sam rasps, fingers rubbing his eyes, “Sleep okay?”

 

Dean swallows thickly and not meeting Sam’s eyes, nods. “Yeah, m’ good.”

 

“I’m glad.” And then Sam is his usual perky morning self and rolls out of bed to dress and get started on the day, Dean left behind in his bed.

 

Despite his discomfort at admitting weakness and having Sam know something was up, Dean feels content, happy that Sam is being so accepting. He forces himself out of bed and goes to shower.

 

***

 

The day is like any other, Dean’s nervousness and tension having drained with Sam’s invitation and it feels good for things to return to normal. They research and make sandwiches for lunch, and in the afternoon they find a hunt.

 

Knowing they’d leave early the following morning, they both get ready for bed at a decent hour and one reassuring look from Sam means they are both climbing into Sam’s bed not long after.

 

In the morning, Dean is once again cuddled into Sam’s chest and though it causes a light fluttery feeling to erupt in Dean’s stomach, he is content to wake up with Sam right there shooting him smiles and asking him the plan for the hunt.

 

It’s reassuring to know that whatever Sam thinks is going on, it doesn’t stop him from deferring to Dean or trusting his judgment. They discuss the plan briefly and then force themselves out of the warm bed into the cool air of the day.

 

The next few nights the brothers are back to renting motel rooms. Dean wonders if Sam thought he’d climb into bed with him, but as they usually did on the road, they each slept in separate beds, Dean in the one closer to the door.

 

When they return from the hunt, Dean is suddenly anxious again that he won’t be welcome in Sam’s room. By the time he’s showered and donned his sweats and a t-shirt, he’s worked himself into an anxious ball of energy and ends up accidently knocking a whole shelf of things over in his room.

 

Sam must hear, because a minute later he knocks and pushes the door open, looking at Dean with concerned eyes.

 

Dean points a finger at him. “Don’t.”

 

Sam raises his hands and shakes his head. “Fine, I won’t ask.” But his gaze is slightly teasing. “You coming to bed soon?”

 

Dean freezes and licks over his lips, sighing. Of course Sam isn’t going to turn him away. “Yeah,” he murmurs, listening as Sam leaves the room.

 

After picking up the items he’d sent crashing to the floor, Dean makes his way down the hallway and into Sam’s room. Sam is lying in bed, light out already, but when Dean appears in the doorway, he flips the sheets back to welcome Dean under them.

 

***

 

This continues for the next few weeks, lying down next to each other to sleep and waking up curled close together in some way. Dean isn’t always face-first in Sam’s chest, although it’s common. Sometimes he wakes with Sam pressed against his back, puffs of air warming the back of his neck. Other times, he wakes with his head pillowed on Sam’s chest, sometimes even with his leg bent over Sam’s thighs.

 

Whatever the position, they are always entangled in some way and though it should be surprising or uncomfortable, off-putting even, neither of them seem to mind and in fact will stay like that for a few minutes even after both of them have clearly woken up.

 

Dean isn’t entirely sure what to do with that information, realization, whatever it is. He knows his own feelings for Sam have not been purely platonic for years. That’s as far as he’s gone in defining them. And though he feels a little weird about being so close to Sam, he knows he’d never act on whatever those feelings may be and so what they are doing is safe, comforting in a way. What he doesn’t know is why Sam puts up with it, but he’ll take what he can get.

 

It’s a couple weeks in, a pattern established between them that a challenge arises. That night as they eat dinner, Sam broaches the subject. “Hey, Dean?” Dean is chewing, but looks up. “There’s this convention type deal in Denver this weekend. You remember that author I was telling you about?” At Dean’s blank look, he continues. “Anyway, he’s gonna be there for a book reading and signing and there’s gonna be fan discussions or something. I’m planning to go. It’ll be a few days.”

 

Dean stops chewing as Sam explains, a cold feeling like fear and abandonment trickling down his spine and making his skin clammy. It sounds like Sam is planning on going by himself, which leaves Dean alone. And fine, he could go out, find a hook-up one night, but what about the rest of the nights? Dean finishes chewing and swallows thickly, looking down so he won’t have to meet Sam’s eyes.

 

Briefly Dean considers finding a reason for Sam to stay, some big hunt they have to go on, or a reason Dean has to go with him, but quickly dismisses the ideas. Both paint him as a desperate leech and Sam doesn’t need Dean to be any more attached than he already is. He’d sold his soul because he didn’t know how to live without Sam. He was overly dependent, he knew that, but it couldn’t translate into everyday life like this. It couldn’t.

 

“Okay,” he mutters, muscles tight and body locked into his chair with the dread filling him at that solitary word.

 

***

 

Sam watches his brother fight the instinctive protest that wants to burst out. He reads the panic in Dean’s eyes when he hears what Sam has to say, watches him waver between something – either willing himself to speak or fight the words back, or finding a reason to change Sam’s mind. Either is possible, and knowing the self-sacrificing nature of his brother, he’ll never voice any of it.

 

When he’d seen the event notice for the convention on one of the blogs he follows, Sam knew it was the perfect opportunity to test his theory. Though he feels pretty confident in his reasoning for Dean staying in Sam’s room each night, it would be nice to know for sure, to have it out in the open between them. This was his chance to confront the topic.

 

The near whispered “okay” worries Sam. He’d been hoping Dean would be a little more verbal in his response. In typical Dean fashion, he wasn’t.   “Dean, be honest with me. What’s going on with you?”

 

“Don’t know what you mean, Sammy. I’m good. Better than good.” There’s an obviously fake smile on his face and Sam sighs.

 

“You know what I mean. Everything you wanted to say just now and didn’t. All the nights you spend in my room. You know I don’t mind having you there, but what’s the reason Dean?”

 

Dean darts a glance at him and then down at his lap. He won’t answer. Sam knew he wouldn’t. Instead he continues, setting his silverware down so he can better focus on his brother.

 

“Thing is, I have a theory. I want you to listen and at least tell me if I’m on the right track.” Dean lifts his gaze, his eyes guarded, body still rigid in his chair. Sam explains what he’s been thinking – how painful his own nights without Dean were, that he’s guessing Dean can’t sleep in the room by himself, that he needs Sam nearby.

 

As he speaks he watches Dean’s brow furrow, his cheeks flush, and his head duck in what he supposes is shame. It breaks his heart. “You know, I’ve been sleeping better too since you started sleeping in my room.”

 

Dean looks at him with some hope, a desperate need not to feel ashamed about all that he’s been feeling, not so alone. Sam smiles and then gives Dean his best puppy-dog face. Dean’s expression turns wary. “I meant it when I said I wanted to go to this convention.” Dean’s face darkens. “But Dean, I made it sound like I was going alone because I wanted to see your reaction. I wanted all of this out in the open between us. If you want, I’m hoping you’ll come with me, maybe do your own thing in the city while we’re there.”

 

Dean tilts his head and seems to consider. He clears his throat. “Yeah, sounds good.” Sam gives him his most winning smile.

 

***

 

About a month after they’d gone to Denver, things are going well between them. Dean is happier, functioning better because he’s been consistently sleeping and Sam is happy to see his brother healthy.

 

Strangely enough, it’s during this period of actual rest that Dean gets sick. As is typical for his brother, Dean toughs it out, suppressing his coughs and continuing to work around the bunker and on Baby.

 

It’s a few days after the first symptoms appeared that Sam finally makes Dean sit down and rest. “You’re going to run yourself into the ground, dude. Just rest for a bit. Give your body time to heal.”

 

“I’m fine,” Dean grumbles.

 

“You’re not. You’re getting worse and you being your typical macho self isn’t helping.” Sam knows his patented bitch face is on, but he can’t help it. Dean is too stubborn for his own good, always has been.

 

Dean makes a face at him, but finally sits, albeit reluctantly. He settles into the couch and enjoys a marathon of Dr. Sexy M.D. reruns. Sam brings him food and water, and honestly he’s just happy Dean is finally taking a break. He runs a hand through Dean’s hair, shooting Dean his puppy eyes when his brother gives him a questioning look.

 

By the next day, Dean is feverish and achy, waking next to Sam with clammy skin and glassy eyes. Sam presses his lips together and flattens his palm on Dean’s forehead. He’s burning up.

 

“I’m gonna go get you some meds to bring the fever down and some water. You’ll rest here today.”

 

“No,” Dean croaks.

 

Sam screws his brows together. “What?”

 

Wetting his bottom lip, Dean lifts his eyes to Sam’s. “Wanna be in _my_ bed.” Dean gives him his best pleading look before dropping his gaze to the covers and smoothing his hand over a wrinkle. “Miss my memory foam. Hope it still remembers me,” he mumbles afterward.

 

Sam fights a grin, knowing that when Dean’s feverish his tongue is a little looser than normal. “Sure, man. Let’s get you a shower maybe and into your own bed.” Dean nods eagerly, the bobbing of his head seeming to make him dizzy because he raises his hands to hold his temples after. “Come on.”

 

He helps lift Dean onto his feet and walks close behind him, hands outstretched and ready if Dean loses his balance. He knows it probably irritates Dean, but his brother isn’t arguing, so Sam stays. They make it to the bathroom and Dean showers by himself, though Sam stands nearby, listening for any out-of-place sounds.

 

When Dean is dry and red-cheeked from the heat, Sam hands him a towel and shadows him to his room. Dean pulls on boxers and a t-shirt and climbs onto his bed. Sam helps him under the covers and is rewarded with a brilliant grin from Dean as the memory foam welcomes him back.

 

“Damn, I missed this. Fucking love this bed.” Sam stifles a chuckle and backs away, flicking the light as he steps into the hallway.

 

He comes back shortly after with Dean’s meds and a small portion of soup. When the bowl is empty, Dean insists Sam bring him his laptop so he can occupy himself.

 

On and off for the rest of the day, Dean dozes and watches whatever ridiculous videos or shows he finds to watch. Sam is just happy to hear him laugh.

 

When nighttime comes around, Sam checks Dean’s temperature, brings him another dose of medicine and wishes him goodnight. He’s been resting well all day so Sam assumes he’ll likely sleep just fine through the night. He leaves Dean’s phone right by his side so he can call Sam if he needs him.

 

It’s barely an hour later that Sam realizes how much he’s come to rely on Dean’s presence beside him. Without the sound of Dean breathing, Sam can’t seem to fall asleep. Knowing that Dean is sick however, and probably asleep already, Sam tries to tough it out, burying his head in his pillow and willing himself to sleep.

 

Not ten minutes later, Sam’s phone rings. He reaches out and squints at the glowing screen before bringing the phone to his ear. “What’s up, Dean?”

 

“Can’t sleep.” He sounds miserable, voice scratchy and grumbled, exhausted.

 

Sam rolls out of bed and sighs understandingly into the phone. “Be there in a second.”

 

“Kay.” That one half word is heavy with trust and desperation. Sam smiles and closes the phone, blearily finding his way down the hall.

 

At Dean’s room, Sam pushes his way inside and approaches the bed. He meets Dean’s glassy heavy-lidded eyes. “I couldn’t sleep either,” he offers, knowing Dean needs the reassurance that it isn’t only him that struggles with this. “Shove over.”

 

Dean scrambles to obey, though his speed is markedly slower than usual and his arm gets twisted in the sheets and complicates things before Sam helps him untangle. A sense of relief filling him, Sam drops into the bed and sighs, the heat and simple presence of his brother soothing his restlessness.

 

Sam turns to watch Dean and is pleased to find that already he’s dropping off to sleep, his lashes fluttering over his cheeks, breaths easy if a bit raspy in his chest. Sam knows it won’t be long before he passes out as well.

 

In the morning, Dean’s forehead is resting on Sam’s shoulder and Sam takes the opportunity to test Dean’s fever. He’s still slightly warm, but definitely improved from yesterday morning.

 

Dean squirms in the bed next to him and mumbles something as he stirs. Sam can’t make it out, but he smiles anyway at how comfortable Dean is. When Dean surfaces and angles his face at Sam, he licks his lips before opening his mouth to speak.

 

“Can we sleep in my bed too from now on?”

 

Sam laughs. “Yeah,” he ruffles Dean’s hair, “yeah.”

 

***

 

They switch off now, alternating rooms almost daily, and it’s nice. They both get to sleep comfortably, both get their own beds on a regular basis, and both are satisfied with having the other in the room. It’s good. When they are away on hunts they sleep in separate beds, but always in the same room, and it’s working for them.

 

It’s one morning after sleeping in Dean’s room that things start to shift. Dean blinks awake to the feeling of warm air on his neck, his back warmed by the broad press of Sam’s chest through their t-shirts, and a throbbing pressure in his groin.

 

It’s not the first time he’s woken up hard since they started sleeping in the same bed. It’s more uncomfortable that it’s there than it is that it’s happening while in the bed with Sam. Maybe that says something about him, but who the hell cares. Dean yawns and snuggles into the pillow, closing his eyes to go back to sleep.

 

Son of a bitch. Dean’s eyes shoot open at feeling Sam adjust behind him, his morning hard-on abruptly positioned directly against Dean’s ass. Dean’s breath hitches. What is he supposed to do now? Holy fuck, Sam’s dick is against his ass. Sam’s hard, god make that huge, pulsing dick is against his ass.

 

There’s a part of Dean that wants to stay there, perfectly content to remain in Sam’s arms, that same part that flutters when Sam looks at him a certain way. The other part, the big brother, says that Sam deserves better than to have an older brother that would lie there and _enjoy_ this. He’s sick. Dean knows he is, but he’s tried hard to ignore that part of him for a very long time.

 

There’s a bitter taste in the back of his throat and Dean squirms away on the mattress, trying to lift Sam’s arm from his waist to release him. The movement must wake Sam, because suddenly his brother is curling his arm tighter, tugging Dean back against his chest.

 

“Lemme go, Sammy,” he murmurs, prying at Sam’s trunk of an arm.

 

“Mmm,” is all he gets in return. Sam is still half asleep.

 

Dammit. “Sam,” he growls, “let me go.” The tighter Sam holds him, the dirtier Dean feels. God, this is sick. Clingy bastard won’t budge. Glancing over his shoulder, Dean scowls and with no other option, pinches Sam’s arm – hard.

 

He feels Sam twitch against his back at the pain, but his constraints don’t move. “Go back to sleep, Dean,” his brother murmurs into his hair.

 

“I wanna get up. Lemme up, Sam.” Dean is relieved when Sam sighs and the weight over his waist starts to recede. He gasps when Sam’s hand brushes over his stomach as he pulls away, his breath stopping completely when his brother encounters his erection.

 

The last thing Dean expects is for Sam to huff a breathy chuckle over his neck and his hand to stop and settle heavily over his hip. “S’ that why you wanna get up? Get over it, Dean. We’re both men. I don’t care.” Sam’s arm slides back over him, hand cupping Dean’s ribs and pulls him back. “Go back to sleep. M’ still tired.”

 

Dean is frozen in place, unable to process what just happened and knowing Sam doesn’t know everything he should. Maybe if Dean wasn’t harboring the feelings he is, this wouldn’t be such a problem, but he is and this is.

 

Sam’s breath has evened out by the time Dean unfreezes and he knows he’s stuck. Swallowing the bitter taste that lingers on the back of his tongue, guilt and fear, Dean tries to relax enough to rest for a while longer.

 

***

 

A few mornings later, tucked into Sam’s bed, Sam is half-asleep still when he hears his name, a breathy slurred whisper. He blinks the sleepy film from his eyes and squints into the dim room, hips instinctively jerking when Dean’s hips roll back into his.

 

He hadn’t meant to do that. Biting his lip, Sam keeps his hips perfectly still. In the quiet, Sam can hear Dean mumbling and leaning closer he can make out his name, elongated sounds of each letter more than a cohesive word, but still his name. He wonders what Dean’s dreaming about and then his eyebrows shoot into his hairline.

 

Sam feels the shock rattle through his whole body. From his position behind Dean and with the room so dark, he couldn’t see at first, but now that he’s looking closer he can make out Dean’s elbow angled above his right hip, his arm moving in a slow rhythm, a back and forth familiar to every man on the planet.

 

Between that and hearing his name from Dean’s lips, he has a pretty good idea what’s going on, but he doesn’t know what to do with that information. He jostles the bed, thinking that if Dean’s awake he’ll feel it and stop. The motion doesn’t stop though, so Sam pushes up on one elbow and leans over Dean, staring at his face to see. His brother still seems to be out cold. A quick glance down shows Sam that Dean is rubbing more than actively jerking.

 

Feeling strangely emboldened by the dark, the next time Dean’s hips roll, Sam rolls right back. It’s terrifying and wrong and exhilarating all at once and Sam’s cock is threatening to tear through his boxers at just the teasing pressure. He feels his cheeks heat, but he can’t help doing it again, and again.

 

His insides feel like he’s turned them inside out and Sam knows he can’t keep doing this. Inhaling deeply through his nose, Sam forces his hips still again and clenches his hand into a fist.

 

From his position, Sam can still feel the small motions of Dean’s movement through the mattress and his breath catches when Dean’s hips jerk more sharply. Somehow Sam can sense something’s changed. The air is different or…or something.

 

In front of him, Dean suddenly shakes and it’s obvious he’s more awake now because Dean’s head is turning, pressing his face into the pillow and Sam can hear a muffled curse and his name.

 

Oh fuck. Fuck, it means so much more now that Dean’s more lucid. Dean’s whole body goes still and Sam knows instantly that he came. Between his stillness and the slight musk in the air, it’s obvious. Sam continues to hold himself perfectly still.

 

As Dean’s breathing settles, Sam hears him groan and then he’s rolling up to dangle his legs over the side of the bed, getting up and leaving the room. Sam is left with a raging hard-on and so many questions.

 

He knows, has known, that on some level he has feelings for his brother, romantic love type of feelings along with sexual desire. That became more than clear in the last few minutes. What also became clear is that Dean might feel the same. The question now is if they should do something about it. Or maybe the more pressing question is how Sam will get Dean to admit it, because knowing his brother, feelings like that would go to his grave.

 

Sam flops onto his back and sighs, running a hand up into his hair.

 

***

 

Sam spent the day worrying about what to do. How could he approach this with Dean? He’d thought of just confronting him, but knew his brother wouldn’t react well to that. He’d thought about going in for a kiss, but knew Dean would likely start throwing punches if Sam surprised him like that, whether he reciprocated the feelings or not.

 

By that evening, Sam still hasn’t reasoned out a way to do it, but he is becoming increasingly eager to find a way. He wants this to work out somehow between them.

 

When the last episode of the latest Dr. Sexy marathon finally ends, Dean yawns loudly and stands. “M’ headed to bed, Sammy. Night.” Sam grunts an acknowledgement and keeps his head in the book he’s reading. He knows Dean won’t sleep until Sam is in the room, but Sam needs a little more time to think.

 

After reading through the same three paragraphs four times without understanding a word, Sam sighs and rises, going to get ready for bed. Once he’s changed Sam goes to find Dean in his room and smiles in the doorway at the sight of his brother bundled under the covers, comforter curled tight under his chin, eyes heavy and blinking sleepily at him.

 

His heart flutters as a wave of affection sweeps over him and Sam has to fight the smile threatening to split his face. He lifts the covers and slides in, turning slightly to face Dean. He lifts a hand and brushes Dean’s hair back. Dean “mmm”s in pleasure and closes his eyes, butting his head into Sam’s hand like a cat.

 

Sam can’t fight the grin this time and runs his fingers through Dean’s hair again. He decides to test the waters a bit and trails his fingers down the side of his brother’s face, coasting the back of one finger over the edge of Dean’s jaw.

 

Dean shivers and slits his eyes at Sam. Sam has to suppress the urge to retract his hand like a child caught taking a cookie before dinner. Instead he repeats the motion, monitoring Dean’s expression, gauging his reaction.

 

To Sam’s surprise, Dean doesn’t protest and actually wriggles closer on the bed, sighing and closing his eyes. Sam can’t help but keep his hands on Dean then, grazing his fingers over Dean’s neck and then cupping Dean’s shoulder through the comforter and sliding his hand down Dean’s arm, adjusting to settle the weight of his palm on Dean’s waist.

 

Dean doesn’t open his eyes again or reject the touch, so Sam keeps it there, thrilled that he gets to fall asleep touching his brother.

 

When Sam stirs in the morning, he can tell it’s still relatively early and keeps his eyes closed. As he lies there he registers how closely he and Dean moved together in the night and smiles. It’s not uncommon for them recently. Dean’s head rests on Sam’s upper chest, Sam’s arm around his back, chests rising and falling with shared breaths.

 

It’s as more awareness floods him that Sam also registers his brother’s crotch aligned with his hip. He is now vividly acquainted with how hard Dean is, how big. And fuck, his brother is definitely not lacking there.

 

It’s in the following seconds that Sam realizes how affected he is, his semi swelling to full hardness and throbbing, taking his breath away. Dean’s leg is curled, bent at the knee and resting solidly over Sam’s groin, which certainly isn’t helping matters.

 

Sam breathes deeply. He does it again. Only when it doesn’t feel like his pulse will beat a pattern through his chest does Sam relax, his free hand coming up to rest on Dean’s thigh.

 

After last night where Dean allowed Sam’s touch, far more intimate than they are used to, Sam is feeling a little daring. His fingers curl down the back of Dean’s thigh just above the bend of the knee, thumb rubbing in a circle.

 

Gently, Sam gives a small tug that rocks Dean’s body into Sam’s, his brother’s erection digging more solidly into his hip. Dean exhales a soft moan, the hot puff of air sending shivers through Sam’s body.

 

Swallowing thickly Sam does it again, this time a little firmer and Dean turns his face into Sam’s chest, fingers curling into the skin there through his shirt, another small moan tumbling from his lips followed by what sounds like Sam’s name. He doesn’t wake though and settles back into comfortable sleep.

 

Sam’s heart is racing, cock aching and Sam forces himself to breathe evenly, holding Dean like a precious gift against his chest. He lies there as Dean sleeps and simply listens to him breathe, excited for what could be ahead of them, anxious about the road to get there.

 

He must doze, because he can tell it’s a little later when he next opens his eyes, but not much has changed. They’re in the same position and both are still hard, though slightly less than before.

 

Sam runs his fingertips over Dean’s back, the other hand rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He yawns and sighs, content to lay here holding Dean all day, but knows his brother will wake up soon.

 

There’s a subtle shift in the air a few minutes later and Sam knows Dean is awake, though barely, his breathing still even. They lay there together just breathing and absorbing the sensations of being close as they do each morning.

 

Dean squirms, likely stretching a kink in his back and Sam knows the second Dean becomes aware of the erections they’re both sporting. His brother inhales sharply, pushing himself up from Sam’s chest to look at his face, a mix of horror and embarrassment twisting his features. Sam is looking down at Dean, a soft smile on his face.

 

Sam knows the look confuses Dean, knows Dean expected his own expression to be mirrored by Sam. He figures he’ll take the opportunity to confuse his brother further. Maybe they’ll get somewhere.

 

Dropping his hand back down to land just above Dean’s knee, Sam holds him firmly and continues to meet Dean’s gaze. The motion takes his brother off guard though and he darts his eyes between the touch and Sam’s face. Sam can see the confusion, the fear, the insecurity pass over him.

 

“It’s okay,” he whispers between them, unwilling to disrupt the silence with full volume and hoping his low tone will keep Dean calm.

 

Dean’s brows knit together. “No, it’s not,” he says lowly, voice still sleep-graveled. He swallows heavily, jaw clenching, seeming to work up the nerve to say the next words. “It’s not fucking okay to be like this with my brother.”

 

There’s obvious disgust in his eyes, but Sam knows Dean well enough to recognize that it’s directed at himself. The emphasis on the word ‘brothers’ tells Sam all he needs to know. Dean’s focus is on his role as older brother, how he’s supposed to “protect” Sam, and how all of this must be his fault.

 

Sam wets his lips and meets Dean’s eyes steadily. “Even if we both want it?”

 

Dean freezes and seems to stop breathing, not knowing how to respond and confused and some part of him, Sam knows, wants to believe him. He sees the desire through the hesitation. There’s risk here. Sam knows that. But he also knows the payoff will be amazing if they let themselves have this. The hope is that Dean will see that too.

 

Watching Dean’s expression closely, Sam pulls on Dean’s leg, which rocks him against Sam’s hip. A short moan huffs past Dean’s lips before he snaps his mouth closed and he looks at Sam affronted.

 

Pointedly Sam pushes Dean’s leg down onto his own hard-on and lifts an eyebrow. Dean’s face flushes a brilliant shade of red and his fingers dig into Sam’s chest. Sam sees it as a positive sign that Dean doesn’t pull away.

 

“I see no reason we can’t make this work if we both want it. This isn’t the first time we’ve woken up like this Dean. I…want you. And I’m pretty sure _you_ want me.”

 

Dean just stares at him, a nervous tic pulsing in his jaw, his breathing more shallow. “How?” He bites out. “How could you know?” He seems honestly confused by this and Sam smiles encouragingly, watching as Dean works up to saying his next words. Dean’s voice is a whisper when he speaks. “ _I_ didn’t even know – not completely.”

 

Sam nods in understanding. “It took me some time to admit it to myself too, Dean. You’ve said my name…just like this.” He pulls Dean against him again, both of them suppressing a groan. Sam angles his face down, mouth closer to his brother’s ear. “You whispered my name, moaned.”

 

“I-I…” Dean seems at first defensive and then frustrated when he can’t find the words to say, embarrassed by what this conversation has revealed.

 

“Just be honest. Is this something you want?” Sam looks imploringly into Dean’s eyes, sees the struggle there.

 

Eventually Dean’s eyes dart away before returning to Sam’s, his gaze shy, more nervous than afraid or defensive. He wets his lips and nods.

 

A smile breaks across Sam’s face. “Good,” he whispers. He leans up and tugs Dean’s neck down so their faces are even, then closes the distance and they’re kissing.

 

It’s tentative at first, a slow meeting of lips that gradually increases in pressure. Part of Sam registers the strangeness of engaging in this activity with his brother. Another part is exhilarated at how right it feels, euphoric. Finally.

 

Cupping Dean’s jaw, Sam sucks Dean’s top lip into his mouth, both of them breathless. He’s amazed by how well they fit together and he can’t get over how plush Dean’s lips are. Their mouths mesh together seamlessly, hot and wet, noses bumping only slightly as they maneuver, adjust to each other.

 

When Sam can’t take waiting anymore, desperately wanting to taste his brother, his tongue tests the seam of Dean’s lips. Dean opens to him automatically and then their tongues are tangling together and it’s wonderful, the best thing Sam’s felt in a long time. Dean allows him entry for a little while, sucks at Sam’s tongue, but after a few minutes he pushes back and into Sam’s mouth, taking and showing him the talent he’s perfected over the years.

 

Sam gasps into his brother’s mouth. He feels like a teenager, tingly and eager. This is more than he’d dreamed of, mostly because he hadn’t let himself consider the possibilities, but it’s everything.

 

Holding Dean close, Sam tips his body towards Dean, turning onto his hip so they’re lying face to face. Dean’s leg drapes over Sam’s, their hips and groins bumping together. But that’s more than either of them can handle right now and they both know it. Sam keeps his hands above Dean’s waist and Dean does the same, his brother’s fingers clutching at his back and pulling him closer.

 

Sam goes gladly and revels in the heat between them, the energy that is sparking into a bigger blaze with every glide of their lips.

 

They make-out for a long time and when their chests are tight with lack of air and their lips are swollen, they collapse onto the bed with Dean’s cheek again pillowed on Sam’s chest, Sam’s fingers tracing shapes and rubbing soothingly over Dean’s back. They’re both still hard, their dicks bumping each other and bringing heat to their cheeks, Dean’s more than Sam’s, but they avoid anything more.

 

Sam loves holding Dean, loves the trust his brother puts in him. He adores that he is the one person Dean will relax around and truly be himself. It takes some work to get him there, but when he does…it’s one of the most rewarding things Sam has ever experienced.

 

He kisses the top of Dean’s head and his brother swats at him even as he squirms closer. “You ever think we would get here?” Sam murmurs.

 

He can feel Dean tense. “No,” he answers shortly, body unclenching slowly as he continues. “Had no reason to. Couldn’t even admit to myself this is what I wanted.”

 

Sam smiles and runs his hand over the back of Dean’s head before returning to tracing patterns through Dean’s shirt. “Yeah, guess I didn’t either.” He trails off staring at the ceiling. Then, “Maybe it was meant to happen though. Supposedly we’re soul mates, two halves of a whole, you know?“

 

Dean chuckles. “Yeah, maybe.” Then more seriously, “Do you really buy that? The whole soul mate thing?”

 

He sounds dubious, though Sam can sense hopefulness in his tone as well. “Ash said soul mates were special cases, that they share a heaven. Since ours was the same, I’ve always believed him in a way. I know we're brothers, that in most people’s eyes this would be messed up, but…I can’t help thinking it’s true.”

 

Dean “hmm”s and trails his fingers over Sam’s chest.

 

***

 

They spend the next few weeks getting used to each other and adapting to this new closeness. The first time Sam curls his arms around Dean’s waist in the kitchen, his brother jumps and almost stabs him with the knife in his hand. The first time they curl up on the couch to watch a movie together there’s tension between them because there’s an urge on both sides to be closer and neither are sure if cuddling on the couch is what the other signed up for. Their first few dinners at the big table are caught somewhere between casual and romantic and because neither are sure what the other wants it’s loaded and deliciously awkward, a jumble of immature jokes, brotherly insults, shy compliments, and footsie under the table.

 

The first time they venture out to a bar where a woman approaches Dean and paws at his arm, Sam is overwhelmed with jealousy, struck by the urge to claim his brother’s mouth as a sign to back off. He resists, but can’t help sliding his imposing figure closer. Dean doesn’t fare much better. When Sam is approached not much later, a dark look clouds his brother’s face and he starts downing shots of whiskey. Neither of them had ever experienced jealousy like that before, nor does it seem they’re fond of the feeling.

 

They’ve been sleeping in the same bed for months now, but suddenly there’s expectation when they lay down together and it’s somehow both awkward and exciting. There’s kissing and minor groping and when their lips are too swollen to continue, they curl up together to sleep. Rather than just waking up on top of each other, now they make it a point to go to sleep that way too. They never acknowledge it out loud, but their nighttime ritual has become something they both look forward to.

 

There are kisses when they wake up and pecks before one of them leaves the bunker. There’s kisses hello and snuggles on the couch, though that term is strictly forbidden by Dean, and even once so far, hand holding in the Impala. They haven’t quite gotten used to that aspect of a relationship yet, but everything is new and exciting and they’re trying.

 

On hunts they now have even more to lose and it’s nerve wracking, but they push through. Before they go out now they always take a minute to exchange a kiss. If they can’t for whatever reason, they’ve taken to squeezing each other’s hands and giving each other a meaningful look. They’ve always communicated better in gestures than with words and it works for them.

 

***

 

As they’ve gotten more comfortable around each other and some of the awkwardness has eased between them, they’ve both been eager to move things forward. They both know it, but neither of them has done anything about it. Laying in bed together one night, mouths sliding wetly, hands running hot over each other’s bodies, Sam finally takes a step to move them in that direction.

 

As they kiss, he secures a hand around Dean’s hip and pulls them together, their hips bumping, semi-hard cocks grazing and sending tingles through their bodies. Dean groans into his mouth and pants “yeah” between kisses. Sam breaks the kiss to mouth at Dean’s jaw, trailing kisses to his neck and sucking a mark into his collarbone.

 

Dean groans and rocks his hips, hands clutching at Sam’s back, insistently pulling them together. Sam grinds against Dean and is rewarded with a whine. He grins into Dean’s sweat-sticky neck and kisses him there again.

 

As he distracts Dean with kisses, he plucks at the waistband of his brother’s boxers and drags them down to mid-thigh. He isn’t patient enough right now for more. Instead, he fumbles for his own and with Dean’s help, shoves them below his own hips.

 

His cock bobs free and they each take a second to pull back and admire each other. “Holy fuck, Sammy. S’ a monster.”

 

The words are mumbled, but Sam’s cheeks flush anyway and he pulls Dean back in for a kiss, muttering “amazing” and “beautiful” into his lips. They let the pleasure of the kiss carry them for a while, letting the desire sizzle and pop between them.

 

Finally Sam can’t take anymore and rolls on top of Dean, gasping when his cock bobs and presses right into his brother’s. They’re on a slight incline from the pile of pillows behind them and holy hell – it’s amazing. Sam has to stop kissing Dean for a second just to catch his breath. They stare into each other’s eyes for a moment and then both are rolling their hips and the friction is unbelievable. Dean gasps, his head rocking back and Sam can’t refrain from sucking at his jaw.

 

The pressure made between their stomachs as they grind together is unlike anything they’ve ever experienced with a woman and Sam at least is taken aback by how good it feels. To move more freely, they take a second to maneuver out of their boxers and in seconds their dicks are pressed back together, this time with their legs positioned more comfortably.

 

Sam kisses Dean again and is surprised when suddenly he’s the one propped up on the pillows, Dean on top of him, hands braced above Sam’s shoulders and rolling their hips together.

 

Sam chokes on a moan and grunts Dean’s name, fingers digging into Dean’s hips. Dean grins back devilishly and grinds harder. Sam glances down and takes in the sight of their cocks squishing together between them, pre-come dribbling from their tips and smearing sticky streaks over their bellies. It feels amazing, and looks just as good.

 

Dean leans in for another kiss and Sam responds gladly. This time though it’s really more breathing into each other’s mouths as they rock their hips together. As they thrust, Sam’s hands helping guide Dean’s hips, he slides one hand back over Dean’s ass and cups one cheek.

 

Dean gasps at the sudden change, but it doesn’t stop their rhythm. Sam slides his hand back up to the small of Dean’s back and then, swallowing thickly and hoping he’s read his brother right, Sam trails his hand lower, just grazing the top of Dean’s crease.

 

His brother freezes for half a second at the sensation and Sam freezes in return. Sam can feel his brother wet his lips and hears the loud swallow in the quiet room. And then Dean presses back into Sam’s hand and starts rolling his hips again, taking Sam’s mouth in another kiss.

 

Sam sighs into the kiss, relieved, and picks up the motion, slipping his hand further down. He keeps the touch very light at first and when it seems Dean is comfortable with it and is pushing his hips back as much as he is forward, Sam touches with a little more pressure. As he moves his hand down the crease, Sam presses his middle down and finds Dean’s hole.

 

Dean flinches at the first press of Sam’s finger there and again he freezes until Dean is comfortable. A whispered “go ‘head” tells Sam he’s good to go and giving his hips a roll to urge Dean on, he rubs his middle finger in a short rotation.

 

The breath hitches in Dean’s lungs and he breaks away from the kiss, his forehead falling to Sam’s as his eyes flutter closed. Sam watches from his strange vantage point as Dean’s teeth bite into his bottom lip with the continued motion of Sam’s finger. He presses harder. A small whimper escapes Dean’s throat and Sam groans at the sound.

 

Their hips are still rocking together, though more slowly now and it’s stunning for Sam to see the slow build in Dean’s pleasure. It quite literally takes his breath away. Dean’s teeth are buried deep in his lip, soft sounds ringing from him as his hips grind in small circles.

 

Sam can feel his balls drawing up, the combination of physical sensations and watching Dean enjoy himself overwhelming him. Heat builds low in his belly and he hopes Dean is getting there too.

 

It’s not long before Dean is approaching his orgasm. Sam can see the blush spreading down his chest, can feel the tightening in Dean’s groin against his, and the twitch of his hole under Sam’s finger. As Dean reaches his peak, his jaw opening in a near silent cry, hips jerking hard against Sam’s, Sam allows himself to fall over the edge as well, groaning as hot streams of come cover their stomachs.

 

Sam pulls his hand back and simply cups Dean’s ass, his other arm coming around Dean’s back so he can hold him gently. Dean sags into Sam’s chest and breathes heavily, resting his head on Sam’s shoulder.

 

Sam’s own breathing is slowing and he can’t help grinning at the pure euphoria flooding his system.

 

“Why did we wait so long to do that?” Dean husks, fingers curled into Sam’s sides.

 

Sam chuckles and turns his face into the side of Dean’s head, pressing a kiss there. “Worth the wait,” he tells his brother.

 

“So worth it,” Dean agrees.

 

They take a few minutes to come down and then awkwardly wipe off, their come already growing tacky on their skin. When they’re wiped clean, they slide down to lay flat on the bed and drag the covers up. Dean wriggles close to Sam and hovers just next to Sam’s shoulder, refusing to voice his desire, but Sam knows what he wants anyway. Sam smiles and lifts his arm, accepting Dean under it so his brother can lie on his chest. It’s becoming their favorite position.

 

Sam kisses the top of Dean’s head. He’s incredibly grateful for the events that brought them here. He feels Dean’s breaths start to even out and closes his own eyes, the sound of Dean’s breathing lulling him to sleep.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I had no idea when I started this late one night that this would spiral into such a long one-shot. Nor did I realize how many times I would use a version of the word/phrase “wake up”, but anyway…I really hope you enjoyed this foray into first-time wincest and the journey of them getting there. 
> 
> Let me know your thoughts! Thanks for reading!


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